


we ain't ever getting older

by sebbykurt



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, One Shot Collection, Suicide Attempt, tags subject to change as the stories are added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:24:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebbykurt/pseuds/sebbykurt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots and drabbles dedicated to one of fiction's most beautiful OTPs.</p><p>1) Thomas watches Newt jump<br/>2) Newt wakes up with Thomas' name scrawled across the back of his hand<br/>3) Minho makes a deal<br/>4) There's a place in Paradise for Newt after all<br/>5) High School is hard when the love of your life is straight<br/>6) Alby and Teresa<br/>7) Thomas' neighbor has an annoyingly loud dog<br/>8) Newt has bruises<br/>9) Strange things have been happening in Paradise, lately<br/>10) "Bite that tattoo on your shoulder"<br/>11) Newt smiles a lot more often in another life<br/>12) Thomas wakes up and Newt isn't beside him<br/>13) Newt takes a picture that he never actually means to send<br/>14) His eyes were darker than a night without stars<br/>15) Thomas isn't actually afraid of lightning<br/>16) Truth or dare?<br/>17) Newt is getting fed up with his roommate<br/>18) Newt has a nasty habit of sitting on Thomas' lap<br/>19) Thomas is a groupie<br/>20) All things must end</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. we all fall (down)

**Author's Note:**

> yupp, that's right, i'm doing it again: writing an entire fic full of one-shots.
> 
> notes:  
> yes, the title comes from (and one of the one-shots will be based off of) the chainsmoker's and halsey's song "closer." and, yes, i will probably get sick of listening to it by the time i've finished this piece.
> 
> it's been a while since i've read the series or watched the movies. i have also yet to read the kill order, so expect some canon divergence.
> 
> i have yet to decide exactly where some of these stories are going, so expect warnings/the rating/tags to change as it updates.
> 
> none of these stories will be connected, so feel free to skip any that come across as uninteresting or bothersome.
> 
> all typos/mistakes are mine. i'm too impatient to wait on a beta reader...OOPS.
> 
> expect au's out the wazoo, as well as stories that stay fairly true to the original plot. SPOILERS BEWARE.
> 
> and...that's it?? i hope you guys like it!

Thomas is sitting with his legs kicked up on the desk, munching idly on a granola bar while his eyes flick between screens.

He watches as a small group of boys struggles to carry large stacks of firewood.  Alby is showing one of the new arrivals around the camp, pointing wildly from station to station as the younger boy watches with wide, frightened eyes.  Minho is taking a break in the Maze, tearing eagerly into one of Frypan’s pre-made lunches.

“Things are pretty calm today,” Teresa says quietly, scribbling something down in her journal. 

Thomas hums in agreement as he closes his eyes and stretches.  He grabs his own notebook and flips through half-assed scribblings, wondering if he should even bother with writing anything down.  Teresa watches the Glade with the mind of a scientist.

Thomas watches with the mind of a guilty friend.

Beside him, Teresa’s entire body goes stiff.  “ _Jesus_ , Tom…”

 “If somebody’s naked, just look away,” Thomas snorts, far too used to her overdramatic reaction to the bare male form to even bother looking up.

“ _No_ , Thomas, look!”  Suddenly, her hand is on his shoulder and she’s shaking him violently.  Her eyes are locked on one of the screens, wide with horror and disbelief.

He follows her gaze.

On one of the bottom monitors, the camera is following the slim form of one of the boys crawling his way up the Maze wall.  He hardly struggles, moving with surprising speed as he twists his fingers through vines to make his way _up, up, up_.

Sunlight glints off the boy’s bright yellow hair.

_Newt_.

Thomas inhales sharply, notebook falling out of his lap as he pushes his chair closer to the screen.  “What’s he doing?”

Teresa shakes her head.  “I don’t – “

“ _What the hell is he doing?_ ”

There are no Grievers to hide from.  No reason to think that he’s found one of the cameras.  He’s just… _climbing_.  And for some reason, Thomas feels sick to his stomach.

Newt angles his body so that he’s facing away from the wall, positioned awkwardly as he clings to a thick vine.

Thomas watches as the other boy takes a deep, quivering breath.  Maybe it’s just in his head, but he swears he can see Newt’s body shake.

_Something is wrong.  Something is –_

Newt jumps.

Body pitching forward without his permission, Thomas slams his hands down on the desk, sending keyboard keys scattering across the floor.  He can’t hear anything other than a dull roar in his ears, but he’s pretty sure by the sudden fire in his throat that he’s screaming.

Somebody – _Teresa_ – is grabbing him, trying to keep him steady, but it’s like he’s been possessed.  He tries to climb on top of the desk.  Smacks his hand against the screen like enough force will close the gap between himself and the body sprawled out across cold cement. 

_Newt is smaller than the others, but in no way is he any less spectacular.  If anything, he catches Thomas’ attention more than anybody else._

_He loves when they race around the compound’s track, desperate to beat each other even though they both know that Newt will always, **always** win._

_He loves when they eat dinner together, legs pressed closer under the table than necessary.  He loves watching Newt carefully dissect his meal, cheeks flushing red when he catches Thomas staring at him._

_He loves it when Newt sneaks into Thomas’ top bunk, calling him a “ **no-good-science-loving-shuck-face** ” before turning his back and letting Thomas’ arm curl around his waist._

_He loves when Newt promises that he’ll wait for Thomas, even if Thomas knows that it’s impossible.  They won’t remember each other.  They’ll be strangers by the time Thomas finally arrives, but he lets himself believe it, because the thought of living a nightmare is far less daunting when he knows that Newt will be there beside him, maybe even holding his hand._

Thomas can hear himself screaming, now.

Minho is on the screen, kneeling beside Newt and getting his hands covered in crimson while he tries to stop the bleeding with a strip of fabric that he tore from his shirt.

“ _DO SOMETHING!_ ” Thomas shrieks, grabbing Teresa’s shoulders and shaking her.  Hard.

“Tom, _please_.”

“ _He can’t die!_ ”  He’s sobbing, too.  Screaming and sobbing and stumbling backwards but keeping his eyes locked on the monitor, waiting for the part of the dream where he wakes up and Newt is asleep beside him.

But the relief of wakefulness never comes.

The bleak reality is simple: Newt is dead, and whatever past they had as kids trapped in the same compound has been erased.

There is nothing, now.

Thomas starts throwing profanities like bombs while he kicks his chair over and falls miserably – defeated – to his knees.  “I want the monitors unplugged!  All of them!  We’ll fucking smash them to pieces if we have to!  I can’t _do_ this anymore!”

“You don’t have much of a choice, Thomas.”

Teresa’s voice makes him sick.  If he were a different person, he’d stand up and punch her, but he doesn’t even have the strength to stand.  Instead, he merely looks up and spits at her shoes.

That’s when the needle slips into neck.

xxx

Thomas has been sedated enough times to know, at least vaguely, how long he’s been knocked out.  The dryness in his throat and his sudden sensitivity to light suggest that it’s been three days.

Three days since…

He curls in on himself, pulling half-heartedly on his restraints while leaning over the bed to spit as his stomach recoils despite being empty.

Teresa is sitting in the corner, eyes locked on him like she’s watching one of the monitor screens.  Careful not to miss a single move.  Calculating his next action.  She told him, only once, that he was one of the only people she felt like she couldn’t read properly.

It’s not much of a victory in the grand scheme of things, but he knows how much it pisses her off and that, at least, is something.

“I’m not going to kill myself, too,” he coughs bitterly, wiping the saliva away from the corners of his mouth and meeting her gaze full-on.  “You don’t have to watch me.  They have cameras for that, anyway.”

“I care about you, Tom.  That’s why I’m here.  It’s not for them.”

He wants to scream at her.  Maybe spit again.  But he can’t, because she isn’t lying, and the constant circle of guilt that hangs around his throat tightens a little more.

Folding out the creases in her lab coat, she stands up and kneels beside him, resting her chin on her arms and watching him with bloodshot eyes.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” he whispers.

She shakes her head.  “He isn’t dead, Tom.”

The words don’t strike him down like a bolt of lightning.  They don’t tug the breath out of his lungs or blur his vision.

It’s more like sinking.  Her words are an anchor that pulls him deep, deep, _deep_ beneath the surface of realization.

“He’s…Newt is…”

His eyes burn with tears, and even though she’s seen him throw tantrums fit to beat a toddler, he still feels the need to turn his head so that Teresa can’t see.

She reaches out to grab his hand.  He’s selfish enough not to pull away.  “Those boys…they’re _smart_ , Tom.  And the damage looked a lot worse than it actually was.”

“But…his head…”  He has to grit his teeth to keep from choking on his own emotions.  “There was so much _blood_ , Teresa.”

“And I won’t lie to you.  It’s a miracle that he’s walking away from it with nothing more than a few migraines and a bad limp.”

At that, Thomas’ blood runs cold.

Teresa must feel his body stiffen, because she tightens her grip on his hand.  “He broke his leg and by the time Minho got him back to camp…there was no way they could have fixed it properly.  But they did what they could and he _still has the leg_ , Tom.  Do you know how fucking _mind-blowing_ that is?  A bunch of teenage boys manage to save a _horrifically_ broken leg – “

“He’s a Runner, Teresa.”

When he turns to gauge her reaction, he isn’t surprised by her confusion.  “Alright, _well_ , they’ll just have to recruit somebody to take his place.”

Thomas remembers when he and Newt were younger.  How much _joy_ running brought him.  And Thomas could see it even with a camera and a screen between them.  Running made Newt _happy_.

Or…it _used_ to.

With tears streaming down his face, it hits Thomas like a ton of bricks that he had clearly been fooled – just like every other boy in that maze – into believing that Newt was whole enough to want to live.

Teresa rests a hand on his cheek, using her thumb to wipe the tears away.  He leans into her touch and the noose tightens. 

“I know how hard this is for you, Tom.  You formed a significantly more emotional attachment to those boys while they were here than I did, but I get it.  I _do_.  You just have to remember, _it’s for the greater good_.”

He doesn’t have the energy to laugh in disbelief at that familiar, robotic mantra.

All he can say is, “ _I just want to be in there with him._ ”

He should have said “ _them_ ,” and he opens his mouth to correct himself before she can ask any questions, but she’s already speaking over him.

“You’ll be with all of them sooner than you think, Tom.  I promise.”

Leaving the anchor to drown him, she stands up, stamps a gentle kiss across his forehead, and leaves the room.

He exhales shakily.

_Sooner than you think, Newt._


	2. scars can heal us, too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how this took to crank out. Life has been a mess and I've been lacking in creativity because of it. Hopefully updates will come more frequently and you'll enjoy this piece for now!

Newt opens his eyes and immediately lets out a groan, throwing an arm over his face and pointedly turning away from Alby’s scowling face.

“Wake up, Newt.”

“The sun isn’t even up, you bloody – “

“ _Newt_.”

“What the _hell_ is wrong, Alby?”  Frustrated by the early wake-up call but worried by the seriousness in his friend’s voice, Newt kicks out of his blankets and glares daggers at The Glade’s first-in-command.  “Somebody better be dead.”

“Don’t be dramatic.  Now, keep your voice down and come with me.”

The best counter argument Newt has time to give is a roll of his eyes.  Alby is already marching towards the Homestead’s exit, leaving Newt to stumble tiredly after him.

They stop on the outskirts of the tree grove.  Alby turns on his heel to face Newt, eyebrow raised like he expects the other boy to speak first.

“Alby, seriously, mate, what’s going on?”

For a moment, Alby’s face twists with impatience, but he quickly schools his features into something a bit softer.  An expression of kindness that he often hides to keep himself looking tough.  “You were making these… _weird_ , pained noises in your sleep, so I came in to check on you.”

Newt wonders if he should feel embarrassed.  It’s no secret that, amongst a large group of teenage boys, almost every night they have to deal with awkward sleep encounters, but Newt has never been subject to the knowing stares of his fellow Gladers the following morning.  He wonders if – despite having no memory of it – Alby caught him in the middle of a dream that –

“Your hand, Newt.”  Alby’s voice cuts through Newt’s thoughts.  “Look at your hand.”

It’s an odd request, but it’s coming from his leader and his friend, so Newt complies without question.

“ _Oh, bloody hell_ …”

Scrawled in the pink flesh of a new scar, a familiar name has carved itself across the back of his right palm.  He reads it over and over again, dissecting each letter with intense scrutiny and sounding out the vowels in a slow stretch.

“This isn’t happening.  This can’t be happening.”

Alby snorts and Newt glares at him.  “Please, Newt.  You’ve had your eyes on that kid from the moment he popped out of the Box.  We’ve all seen you drooling over him.  You didn’t need that name on the back of your hand to realize how you feel.”

“First of all,” Newt snarls, hiding his hand behind his back when he notices Alby glance down at the scar.  “I don’t _drool_.   Second of all, this Soulmate nonsense gets mucked up all the time, right?  Tons of the boys have names written on their hands that they’ve never even _heard of_ before – “

“And we’d all kill to get to meet those people.”  There’s a slight drip of hurt to Alby’s voice as he holds out his own right hand, displaying the name of a girl that he has no memory of ever knowing or hope of getting to know.  “So don’t waste this opportunity.  Or I’ll kick your shucking skull in.”

“Alby – “

But the leader of the Glade is already walking away.

xxx

“I don’t _know_ ,” Newt whines, choosing to look at his food instead of the overeager, slightly terrifying expression that is currently painting Minho’s face.    “He and I can’t exactly go for a romantic walk through the Maze now, can we?  Besides, the bloody idiot probably hasn’t even noticed.  Maybe…maybe _my_ name isn’t even on _his_ hand.”

Minho nudges him a bit too hard in the ribs.  “I’ll admit, it’s entirely possible that he hasn’t noticed, but this Soulmate business isn’t a one-sided deal, so don’t get yourself all sad over nothing.  And if you need a good place for a first date, I’ve taken guys _all_ over – “

Newt raises his hand to stop the other boy from finishing that train of thought. 

Minho snorts.  “Point is, you better figure out what you’re gonna say, because here he comes.”

Newt’s head jerks up so quickly that his vision blurs.  Just as Minho slips not-so-sneakily out of his seat beside Newt, **_he_** falls into a chair on the other side of the table, shooting Newt a smile while he continues to listen to whatever Chuck is chattering on about.

_Thomas._

Glancing down, Newt’s eyes are immediately attracted to his own name carved into the skin of Thomas’ left hand.  He tries to swallow but finds that his throat has gone dry.

He reaches for his water.

It tips and spills in slow motion, and reaching for it feels sluggish and odd.  Things feel even stranger when Thomas stretches out his own arm.

Their fingers brush and Newt pulls back too fast, sending the room spinning until it settles and Thomas is staring down at his hand with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“I _knew_ it!” Chuck exclaims, throwing his fist in the air like he’s won some sort of bet. 

“Knew what?” Thomas asks, looking from Chuck to his hand.  “What does this mean?  Why is Newt’s – why is _your_ name written on my hand like this?”  His eyes meet Newt’s with desperation.

Chuck just laughs.  (Newt doesn’t find anything about this situation even remotely comical.)  “It means he’s your Soulmate, shuckface.”

Thomas coughs.   “ _Soulmate_?”

“ _Meant to be_ , ya know?  Everybody has one.  Their name pops up on your hand totally randomly, even if you’ve never met the person.  It usually cuts itself into your skin while you’re sleeping.  I’m surprised you didn’t wake up from the pain.”  He continues munching on his sandwich, completely unbothered by the weight of all that he just dumped on Thomas’ shoulders. 

“I…I don’t…”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Newt mumbles, tracing his forefinger over Thomas’ name and trying not to sound disappointed.  He doesn’t know what he was expecting, really. 

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Thomas reaches out and grabs Newt’s hand, sending an uncontrollable shudder down his spine.  He brushes his thumb across his own name, and suddenly it’s just the two of them in the room. 

Maybe even in the world.

“I don’t know what this means, exactly,” he says quietly, catching Newt’s eyes and hooking him like a fish on a line.  Trapping him for good.  _There’s no escape, now._   “But there’s something I’ve wanted to do since the moment I first saw you, and I feel like it’s finally appropriate.”

Newt opens his mouth to ask _what_ , but Thomas is planting his free hand down on the table while keeping the other trapped securely in Newt’s, folding his body over the edge, and planting his lips firmly – and with very little experience – against the other boy’s.

It’s not perfect, but it sends something intoxicating through Newt’s bloodstream, and he strains his neck to keep Thomas close even as he pulls away.

Chuck keeps eating his sandwich.  Somewhere, Minho shouts in congratulations.

Newt and Thomas smile tentatively at each other.

_Soulmates._

Newt likes the sound of it.


	3. this could be something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> self-indulgent college!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LADIES AND GERMS, I AM DETERMINED TO FINISH THIS FIC. life has ATTACKED me over the past few months, so i thought i'd retaliate by putting something good out into the world.

Thomas is staring at Minho with wide, terror-stricken eyes.  “Yeah, uhm…I’m gonna need you to _repeat_ that, because there’s _no way_ I heard you right.”

With a snort, Minho flops down on Thomas’ bed, forcing the other boy to move his feet out of the way with an agitated huff.  “Ask out Newt Isaacs, and I’ll steal Brenda’s phone and delete that _terribly_ revealing picture that she keeps threatening to post online.”

Thomas’ cheeks flush red.  “You’re my _best friend_.  That alone should be the only reason you need to delete the damn thing.”

“Yeah, but that’s no fun.  Besides, you and I _both_ know that I’m putting my _life on the line_ when it comes to messing with Brenda.” 

“ _Minho_ – “

“Hey!  You could always just delete it yourself.”

Flashbacks from Brenda’s reaction to their breakup make Thomas’ blood run cold.  Not a single day passed where he forgot how genuinely bad ass she was, but having a stapler whipped at his skull kind of put a lot of things into perspective.

“Anybody but Newt,” he whines, shamelessly pouting while his friend grins.  “His immediate rejection will spread across campus like wildfire and I’ll be the butt of everybody’s jokes.”

Minho rolls his eyes and smacks his friend’s leg a little too hard to be playful.  “Don’t put yourself down like that.  You’re totally cute enough to score a date with the hottest guy in school.  _Besides_ , you’re being overdramatic.  That guy gets asked out by thirty different people every day and you almost _never_ hear about it.”

Thomas narrows his eyes.  “If no one ever hears about it, then how do _you_ know?”

“Because every girl that’s ever been rejected by him finds themselves _inevitably_ drawn to my slightly-less flattering charms.  Some of the guys, too.  I have a _very_ great set of shoulders to cry on.  Not to mention a _gigantic_ – “

He’s cut off by Thomas’ pillow.  “ _Enough_.”

“Ask Newt out on a date and I promise to never talk about my dick around you again.  Unless I have, like, a medical problem or some shit.”

“This is getting ridiculous.”

“What’s _ridiculous_ is that you’ve been crushing on this guy for _three years_ and you’ve never done a damn thing about it.”

“ _Because he’s the hottest guy on campus_ , Minho!  You said it yourself!  Not to mention how fucking _smart_ he is.  And funny, too.  He can quote Shakespeare while making you wet your pants, and trust me when I tell you that nothing about Shakespeare is even _remotely_ funny.”

Minho raises an eyebrow.  “Your point?”

“I’m not hot, or smart, of funny.  He’d never look twice at me.”

“Dude.  He meets you every single day for coffee.”

“He’s tutoring me in Calculus, not flirting with me.”

This response earns Thomas a frustrated sigh.  “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, well, _you_ – “

“Ask him out, Thomas.  Tonight.  During your little study date, while he’s staring at you all lovey dovey across the table.”

“ _Nobody’s_ staring at _anybody_ all _lovey dovey_.  Minho, man, _come on_!”

But Minho is already slinging his bag over his shoulder and waving goodbye as he leaves their dorm, shouting a bit too loudly that Thomas better “ _grow a pair of balls before the whole world has access to a picture of his dick!_ ”

Thomas stares angrily at the closed door for a solid thirty seconds before hiding under the covers and debating whether to text Newt and cancel tonight’s study session.

Then he remembers his GPA, his parent’s threats to pull him out of school, and he concludes that maybe the whole world getting to see his dick wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

 

xxx

 

As always, Newt looks perfect.  Slightly disheveled, sandy blond hair that people are always asking if he intentionally styles.  (“ _Uhh…if forgetting to brush your hair counts as ‘styling,’ then, yeah!_ ”)  Thin, wire-frame glasses, always being pushed up the bridge of his nose by long fingers that look like they were made to write stories.  Freckles that are barely visible unless the light is hitting just right and a deep, English accent that made Thomas shiver the first time he ever heard the other boy speak.

“You’re really botching this up today.  Worse than usual.  Need a break?”

Thomas is still thinking about long fingers and freckled cheeks when Newt’s voice jerks him back to reality and, okay, maybe he still shivers every now and then.  He looks down to see that his practice equations have all been scratched out in red.

“ _Jesus_ , yeah, uh…”

“You have a lot on your mind today, I can tell.  Wanna talk about it?”

Thomas blushes as Newt takes a sip from his drink.  Usually, Thomas has his unrequited crush under control, but talking with Minho seems to have sucked him back in time, to when he first saw Newt laughing with friends on the soccer field and the feeling of truly being _fucked_ overcame his senses.  Something completely unfamiliar and unsettling in a way that was somehow addicting.

His thoughts are dancing from wondering how nice it would feel to hold Newt’s hand to wondering what those obscene lips could do in a more private setting.

He kind of just wants it stop.  Both because he doesn’t want Newt to notice and because he _really_ needs to pass his exams.

“Just some roommate problems,” Thomas sighs, scratching at the back of his head in frustration.  “I don’t mean to waste your time, man.  Give me some more problems to work on.  Maybe the caffeine will help.”  He takes a large gulp of coffee, wondering briefly when his hands got so clammy.

Across the table, Newt has this sort of odd half-smile curling the bow of his mouth, popping an indent in his left cheek.  Thomas’ stomach does a little flip.

“Minho has a very… _large_ personality.  I can understand how living with him might be difficult.”

Thomas can’t stop his face from contorting with confusion.  “Wait, you two know each other?”

Newt’s smile widens.  “You could say that.”

“Wait…”  Thomas’ thoughts are running at a mile a minute.  It feels oddly like his heart is breaking.

He should have connected the dots a lot sooner.

Sure, Minho is supposed to be Thomas’ best friend, but that doesn’t mean he’s not both exceptionally cooler _and_ more attractive.  He’d hinted at running in the same social circles as Newt a few times in the past, but Thomas honestly never thought they knew each other _that_ well.

“A ‘ _large personality_ ’, huh?”

Newt’s smile falls as Thomas starts frantically gathering his things.  “Tommy?  What’s wrong?”

The use of the nickname stings.  “Don’t call me that.  Not when you’ve been secretly screwing my best friend and roommate for god only knows how long.”

“ _Screwing your roommate_?”

Thomas ignores him.  “And, sure, I get _you_ not telling me, but Minho?  And the way he’s been…”  Thomas pauses, reeling himself in before he says anything about Minho’s elaborate plan to get Thomas to ask Newt out.

Now that he thinks about it, the whole scam was probably just a cover-up to hide the truth.  Minho knew Thomas would never _actually_ do it.  He was just trying to spare his feelings by giving him something else to think about.

Thomas nearly knocks his coffee off the table as he stands up, eyes burning suspiciously.  “I…I think I’m gonna go, now.”

“Tommy, _wait_!”

Newt reaches for his wrist, and the touch is so unexpected that Thomas would gasp if he weren’t so close to crying.

“Sit for a minute, yeah?”

Thomas likes to think he’s strong, but one glance at the place where their skin touches and his knees are buckling against his will.

“First of all, do you really think I’d be screwing your best friend without _telling_ you?”

Thomas’ eyes fall to the floor.  Newt’s grip is still tight around his wrist.  He doesn’t know what to think, really.

“We’ve been friends for over a year now, Tommy.  I wouldn’t keep that from you.”

Something warm and bittersweet expands in Thomas’ chest.

“Second of all,” Newt continues.  “Minho and I properly met for the first time a few weeks ago.  He said he had a deal for me.”

“Classic Minho,” Thomas says quietly, desperate to get away from here despite how soft Newt’s hand is.  Too much longer and he’s about to start squirming.

Newt drops his wrist –

“What was the deal?”

\-- and surprises Thomas by leaning across the table and grabbing his chin, tugging enough that their eyes meet.

Suddenly, Thomas forgets how to swallow.

“If I helped him pass his psych exam, he’d help me convince you to go on a date with me.”

Inside, Thomas is screaming.  With embarrassment, disbelief, and pure euphoria.  Outside, all he can say is, “Oh…did he pass the exam?”

Newt’s face breaks into a smile, and Thomas stupidly wishes he had a camera on him.  “Failed it pretty miserably, actually.  So I guess I have to do all the work on my own.”

Before Thomas can blurt out his next dumb thought, Newt is closing the space between them and pressing their lips together in a sweet, soft kiss that makes Thomas dizzy.

He wants more.  He wants everything.  But Newt is pulling back with a laugh and flushed cheeks, shaking his head gently when Thomas tries to close the gap again.  “Does that mean you’ll go on a date with me, then?”

“Don’t stop kissing me and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Newt laughs.

Thomas just kisses him even harder.

(Outside, a few students stare in confusion as a boy hiding in the bushes outside the coffee shop starts cheering.  Somebody says, “ _Oh, it’s just Minho_ ,” and they all go on with the rest of their day.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was just a quick little ficlet to get the creative juices flowing again. please hit up the comments with any mistakes/typos i might have made, as i posted this fairly quickly after writing it out of excitement!


	4. old names, new home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you haven't read the death cure, i urge you to stop RIGHT NOW. you will be spoilery-mc-spoiled if you continue!!!

Minho helps choose the tree they use, assisting Thomas with hacking it down, despite Thomas’ complaints.

“This is more important,” Minho assures him, keeping careful eyes trained on the other boy.  He’s always watching, now.  Probably waiting for a breakdown that Thomas is surprised he hasn’t felt coming.  “The others can handle things for a while.”

Thomas doesn’t say much in response.  He saws and chops and wipes away the splinters and blood on his pants.

Later, Minho offers to help with the design, but he concedes when Thomas ignores him and a fight breaks out over sleeping arrangements.

Brenda brings him water and offers to bandage the cuts on his hands.  “Some of those look pretty nasty.  You should have worn gloves – “

“I’m fine, thank you.”

He doesn’t look up from his work while she stares at him.  Not in shock or anger, but in understanding, and it makes his stomach twist with impossible guilt.

“I know how much this means to you, Thomas, so I won’t push.  But, if it’s alright with you, I’m gonna gather up some people to help out.  This is too much to do on your own.”

He doesn’t want the help, let alone the presence of other people, but the exhaustion buried deep in his bones is getting harder to ignore.

He nods.

xxx

Dozes and dozens of crosses.  Names he knows and names he never learned.  He feels haunted to the point of suffocating.

He had carved Teresa and Chuck’s names with extreme precision, but even the amount of care he poured into preserving their memory is nothing compared to what he creates for Newt.

The boy’s name is written in thick, but delicate cursive.  Vines curl around the letters, bursting at the tips in extravagant flowers.

Thomas’ hand aches.

“I never knew you to be so artsy,” Minho muses, tracing his fingers over the designs with a sad sort of smile.

Thomas finds it in himself to laugh a little.  “Me either.”

xxx

The crosses are arranged carefully in a large field and a proper memorial is held, but Thomas can’t force his legs to take him there.

It’s only later, after Brenda has brought him yet another glass of water and a chaste kiss on the cheek, that he makes his way to the field alone, a sad excuse for a bouquet of bright yellow flowers grasped too-tight in his hands.  They had reminded him of Newt’s hair, only not quite as pretty.

He makes his way to where the Gladers’ names are buried, careful not to look too long at the immense number of crosses that litter the field.

He stops at Newt’s marker, drops to his knees, and cries.

Until his chest aches and he’s heaving, flowers scattered pathetically in the tall grass.  He sees Newt’s face a dozen different ways, laughing and crying and dying.

He digs his fingers into the earth and tries to find his head again.  Focuses on Newt’s voice saying “ _Tommy_ ” like the nickname meant everything to him.  Like it was a promise.

“I wish I could have s-saved you,” he hiccups, ducking his head and squeezing his eyes shut.  “I wish I could have told you…I don’t know.  But I…I think _you_ did.  I think you knew and you were just waiting for me to figure it out.”

He gathers the flowers into a small, disheveled pile.  He chokes out a laugh despite himself, imagining how Newt would have responded to the flowers had he still been alive.

_“Some crushed up flowers, Tommy, really?  Well, what a damn romantic gesture on your part.”_

Thomas looks up and watches the sun dip behind the trees in the distance.  Maybe, he thinks, there is a version of himself and a version of Newt that make it.  A world where Thomas gets to say “I love you” for the first time to a living, breathing, radiant boy instead of to a lifeless hunk of wood.

As he stands up, wiping tears and snot away on his shirt, a light breeze tickles his skin.

It’s almost like a whisper in his ear.

One that says, _“I know, Tommy.  I know.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> months later, i have so many regrets in regards to the title of this work, but i refuse to change it because i'm a stubborn pos :~) hit me up on tumblr if you wanna cry about newtmas with me: dixondameron.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to bombard me with questions, either here or over at dixondameron.tumblr.com!!


End file.
